


Fallen leaves

by Hectatess



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bad Parent John Winchester, Gen, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, One Shot, Winchester Coping Mechanisms, Young Dean Winchester, Young Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-26 13:07:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15001529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hectatess/pseuds/Hectatess
Summary: After that horrible fire, John hates the Fall season, because Mary used to love it. Now almost everything about it, hurts.We follow him and the boys for a few years.





	Fallen leaves

**Author's Note:**

> The song ‘Forever Autumn’ by Justin Hayward woke my Muse (she SHOULD be helping me with my AU-Destiel fic, but she did this to me)  
> Enjoy, my Unicorns!

Watching the red leaves tumble down, he ran a hand through his hair.

Fall, or Autumn, depending on where you lived.

A beautiful time of year for most, but to him: hell. The reds, yellows and oranges of the foliage could be the fiery pits themselves. He hated them with a passion.

A giggle had him turn his head, and the soulsucking ache in his heart lessened a bit.

“That’s it, Sammy! Higher!” his eldest enthused his little brother, and the todler threw tiny handsfull of the brightly coloured leaves in the air with a delighted squeal.

The leaves became a multi-coloured shower on their heads, littering the motel parkinglot.

For now, John could accept the fallen leaves as a plaything for his boys, and actually chuckle at them.

Until his six year old started kicking his way through the dead leaves, his laughter sounding too much like another. One he would never hear again.

“BOYS! Inside. Now.” he barked, heart breaking as he saw the older instantly picking up his baby brother and meekly shuffle towards their room for the day.

That night, John Winchester got commode hanging drunk as his boys were sleeping in their bed.

He didn’t notice the sad, peridot-green eyes that looked at him, or the almost inaudible: “I’m here, Sammy. I’ll protect you.” that Dean whispered to his brother.

~~~<~~~

Through the windshield he saw a flock of migratory birds pass overhead, southward bound, like him. Since that warm Indian Summer day where he’d snapped at his boys, John tended to make sure his hunts during Fall were in the warmer States. The ones with cacti and tumbleweed instead of oaks and maples.

From the back seat he heard Dean tell his brother: “Look, Sammy! Geese. Must be nearly fall already.”

The soft voice of his youngest piped up.

“Why you say that, Dee? Is still warm and sunny. Is Summer.”

The patient air and soft voice Dean used to explain how some birds flew south for the winter, was so reminiscent of Mary, John had to swallow a lump.

“Dean..” he interupted his boys. “Once we’re at a motel, I gotta leave. You take care of Sammy, you hear?”

The soft and caring tone Dean had used for Sam was gone when he answered his father.

“Yes, sir.”

~~~<~~~

Angry green eyes glared at him from the back seat.

“You can stop that right now, Dean.” John said sternly, but for once his eldest didn’t listen.

On the contrary. The glare got harder.

“It was a good lead, and you know it. Sammy had done his research. And it was solid. It was a legit case, dad. Why the hell didn’t you want to check it out?” Dean said, voice soft as to not disturb Sam, but his tone was sharp and accusing.

They’d argued, Sam and John. Until John had snapped and threw a book, one of the ones Sam had used for research, at his son. It had hit Sam right on the cheekbone, spinefirst.

Shocked to the core, ten year old Sam had clammed up and gotten into the car without another word.

The whole drive, Dean had talked softly to his sibling, while John ignored them both. Now, Sam was sleeping, an oblong bruise under his wet lashes, and Dean looked at his father in a way the kid usually reserved for witches. Cold and disgusted.

“You wanna know why, Dean? Because it was in Maine.” John answered grufly.

“What? But we’ve done plenty of cases in Maine. Just this february, that poltergeist...” Dean protested, but John cut him off.

“I don’t work Maine in the fall. And that’s final!” he snapped harshly.

Dean’s eyes widened, then dropped. “Yes, sir.”

~~~<~~~

“If you walk out of that door, boy, don’t bother coming back!” John barked at his youngest son.

“Dad...” Dean tried, but Sam glared at his father, ever changing hazel eyes now dark grey in anger.

“Fine! I won’t!” he yelled back before stalking out of the motelroom, slamming the door so hard, a framed painting dropped to the floor.

Yanking the door back open, Dean hollered after him: “Sam!”, but Sam adamantly strode on, duffle slung over his shoulder. Dean stood in the dooropening, visibly torn between staying and going after Sam.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. John turned away abruptly and grabbed the square bottle that stood on the table.

Dean’s mouth pulled down bitterly, before he grabbed the keys to the car and tore after his little brother.

A roll of thunder sounded far off, but John didn’t care. The rustle of leaves signaled the wind picking up, and he could smell the seasons turning. Fall was around the corner.

“Ah, Mary... What would you have done?” John sighed as the first drizzle of rain speckled on his upturned face. Five minutes later, the drizzle had turned into a gentle rain, but John still stood on the parking lot of the motel where his boys had left him, face turned up. And if one of the drops rolling down his cheek was salty and originated from his eye, who would know?

~~~<~~~

“Mmmm we can end this, John.” Alastair drawled, all eight of his eyes gleaming white in the blackened face. His tail whipped around, scattering the glowing embers on the floor.

They skittered and bounced around, reminding John of that day, eons ago, when his boys had been playing with the fallen leaves. Giving in would mean no more fall, but also no more kids kicking up leaves and giggling about it.

“Screw you, asshat. Never in a million eons!” John grit out between his teeth.

~~~<~~~

He’d seen Dean pull the trigger. He’d seen Azazel fall to the ground, yellow eyes fading to blue once more, broken, but human.

He’d seen both his boys again, pride blossoming in his chest at the men they’d become.

And now? Now he opened his eyes to see fall foliage above him, and hegasped at the pain in his heart.

“John! John!”

He turned, amazed, to find Mary running up to him, long blonde hair peeking from under a beanie hat, and wearing a warm brown coat.

“Mary?!” he gasped.

His wife hugged him tightly.

“There you are, honey. Come! The boys want to have one last cookout before it gets too cold!” she said, pulling him along to where he saw an eight year old Dean and a four year old Sam, patiently waiting for them.

Whatever this was, John would be happy if it meant this was forever his life.


End file.
